The voting was close enough for there to be a tangible split in the room. The first motion, to suspend the compound's operations, passed by a margin so narrow that some councilors demanded a recount. But with that first hurdle cleared, the second motion to release the kobolds passed more easily as the humans began to heed the pleas of their own consciences.

The third motion, to hold formal negotiations with the Shy and kobolds, prompted a flurry of calls for amendments, conditions, and compromises that threatened to strangle any agreement before a word was written. Conceding reasonable provisions such as a neutral location, vetting the members of the committee, and a moratorium on shard magic, kept the negotiations going.

Through it all, pens scratched against parchment, recording every argument, every contention, every reluctant step to necessary change, with indelible ink.

When the chair finally lifted his hand to signal they'd all had enough, the sun was peeking out from the horizon. The runner by the door, after an evening of fitful, impatient dozing, was pumped to sprint at full speed. He took off down the corridors toward the tower where the great bell waited to carry news across the Grey Road and into the Veilwoods.

The first toll echoed against the stone walls of the compound. The second pierced through the glass windows throughout the town, bringing faces to panes and questions to lips. The third clanged out past the walls, carrying word to ears and senses more sensitive than those of humans.

Roddick, who still acted deferentially to the former overseer, even though he no longer wore the badge that had defined him, cleared his throat. "I'll help escort the kobolds to the gate," he offered.

"Based on what I've seen of Vikka, I don't think that would be necessary," Rhiannon waved him off. "Better to keep an eye out for the rest of us humans who might not have gotten the message about what we just agreed to."

His jaw went slack in surprise before he nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Wyatt bent to retrieve his rope from the chamber floor, hanging it from his belt.

Veyran leaned close to Rhiannon's ear as she prepared to exit the chamber. "Seven days," he murmured. "That's both forever and no time at all."

"We'll just have to make sure it'll be enough," she agreed.

Garrett slipped through the garden gate as the bell faded into background noise. His wife Lina stood at the table with sleeves rolled, not to knead dough, but to prepare bowls of greens and mushrooms, topped with a sprinkling of toasted field-crickets.

Her expression when she looked up was a question in itself.

"It's done," Garrett announced. "Seven days till the talks. Nobody stops them from walking out of the barn."

Lina's shoulders eased. "They can enjoy their feed before hitting the road," she said, tapping the bowls with the back of a spoon.

On the board lay more: snail skewers glistening where the oil had seared, moss cakes baked in a bundle among the coals.

Garrett watched her hands move with practiced efficiency, remembering the years she'd fed their family on whatever the compound would spare. 'You've been getting ready for a while haven't you?'

Lina's mouth tightened. 'Someone should've been feeding them properly all along. It's the least—' Her voice caught. 'It's just food, Garrett.'

"How did you come up with all this?" Garrett asked, both proud and astonished by her ingenuity.

"I remembered what Wyatt told me about what they really liked to eat," Lina said. She nodded at a clay jar. "There's peppers and nettles in there, in case they're looking for more spice."

Garrett fetched trays for the bowls. "They should get you to cook for the big gathering. Your food's good enough to get them all to sit down, shut up and agree with one another."

"I don't think I can claim credit for anything," Lina answered. "Except for raising Wyatt right."

Garrett headed to the door with a tray in either hand, with Lina staying behind to ready more bowls and jars. "When you see our boy," she added, smiling, "tell him if he's curious enough to taste the crickets, he'll like them better with a bit more salt."

Dawn broke as the gate doors swung wide open for the kobolds exiting the compound, the sun unmasking the cruelty that the structure's shadows had hidden. But there was hope in that same light, of new beginnings, of eggs finally having the chance to hatch.

When they came to the compound's gates, Vikka stepped out first. Not to make a statement, there was no sense of grandstanding left in her after all that she'd witnessed and done, but to face whatever would come for her people before it could touch them.

Behind her came the others. As Grilsha's influence faded, the captive kobolds began rediscovering their own quirks and attachments. One of the youngest, barely a hatchling herself when captured, kept pointing at the morning sky as if greeting it again after a long, dark winter.

The townspeople had gathered, drawn by the bell and the rumors that had blanketed Greyhold as the wee hours waned. The humans parted to create a path, the innocents stared with open curiosity, those more culpable hung their heads in shame. A few offered small nods of encouragement, their token gestures acknowledging the kobolds' freedom carried more weight than any grand speeches.

Garrett stepped into place beside Vikka as she strutted forward, his presence a statement that some alliances transcended species and circumstance. Matching her pace, his longer stride shortened to keep alongside her. Despite the differences in height, their shadows overlapped and lengthened together as the sun rose.

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At the threshold between the road leading out from the compound into the town proper, Rhiannon waited with the provisional documents that had emerged from the night's negotiations in hand. The parchment felt heavier than its few pages should have.

"Vikka of the kobolds," she said in her most officious tone, lending an air of ceremony to what should have been a simple handover. "I present your credentials as envoy and representative."

Vikka blinked in surprise at the formality. "I'll be that," she said simply. She touched her horns self-consciously, when had they started curving around her head like this? She'd sensed that they'd been growing all week, but she'd been too occupied to notice the change. They felt heavier now, like responsibility made physical.

She signed her acceptance with a pricking of her claws. The pattern of dots made their release binding under Greyhold law. Not that she could ever fully understand the humans' preoccupation with markings on flat leaves.

Some of the kobolds had refused to leave without their most precious treasures. Roddick rushed to help one of them who was lagging behind, burdened with a basket of eggs on her back. The additional weight was negligible across his broader shoulders. Wyatt guided the rest toward a nearby well where fresh water and his mother's spread of snacks awaited them.

Wyatt knelt beside the youngest kobold, the same one enraptured by the sky. He held out the bowl of crickets. She sniffed suspiciously, then took one, crunching it between small fangs. Her eyes widened.

"Good?" the boy asked. She chirped something in kobold speech, took two more crickets, and pressed them into his hand. A gift for a gift.

'Thank you," he responded in rudimentary chirps. She chirped back and scurried to catch up with the others. Wyatt stood watching them go, the crickets still in his palm, until his father's hand settled on his shoulder.

The expanded party crossed the Grey Road together, stretching out into a procession into the Veilwoods, whose trees were watching and waiting to receive them. The townspeople watched, as what had once been Greyhold's greatest treasure, turned shame, streamed out of their gates. It was the end of the line for an era.

In the ruins of Menna and Veyran's makeshift arclith research lab, Vazko crouched beside a small burner built out of bits of an empty can from Rhiannon's rations. He could feel the morning damp creeping into his stiff armor, longing to strip it off and cast it all aside, but his hands remained steady as he wrote.

To the Deepshy Council,

Field observations in the rediscovered territory confirm speculation regarding abandoned arclith technology and deposits. These Shy who have been forced to live outside the caldera have displayed great resilience and innovation even in the face of enormous challenges and the absence of support structures. Recommend extended observation rather than intervention until conditions are better understood.

Full report pending resolution of ongoing complications.

He stopped, read what he'd written, then carefully sanded the ink dry. The letter said what the council wanted to hear while omitting what they couldn't be trusted to know, truths too dangerous to commit to paper traveling to the Deep.

Across the clearing, Menna wrote with quick, decisive strokes:

To my colleagues in Umbryss,

Enclosed documentation represents breakthrough findings in shard-based technology and archaeology. Propose immediate peer review. The future of inter-level, and even inter-species, arclith-based collaboration may depend on how we can move beyond institutional limitations. Please distribute discreetly with those of similar inclinations.

Vazko stared at his words before sealing the letter closed with beeswax. "You think this will get them to stop bickering amongst themselves for a change?" he said.

Menna didn't look up from her own correspondence. "Hopefully, the ones who can see the big picture are those who'll pay attention. I believe there are enough open minds in Obsidara at least."

They would send off both letters with the last pair of scouts mounted on bluejays, who would soon take off to keep watch on the rear of the more slowly progressing caravan.

Mirys and Mara waited in an ancient glade where the trees leaned inward like conspirators sharing secrets. When the message-carrier arrived, a blue jay that landed on the rope they'd strung between saplings, Mara reached up to retrieve the cylinder buckled into the bird's harness.

She read and translated the missive aloud in the dappled light. Greyhold Compound operations suspended. Captives released. Formal negotiations begin within seven days. Neutral ground required. Arclith use prohibited within boundaries of meeting venue during the talks.

"Neutral ground," Mirys repeated thoughtfully. "This place, then. No one owns this clearing. The Veilwoods can enforce both neutrality and safety. The power of the trees does not rely on arclith."

"We'll need a proper table," Mara observed. "Something that acknowledges the gravity of the event. Something that acknowledges we're at the same level as the humans."

"And also chairs and food," Mirys added. "Conversations flow better when people are comfortable and full. And it also gives everyone something to look at and do besides stare at each others."

Together they found a broad, flat stone and marked where a crew could position it where morning light would fall at the center of those seated around. Mirys placed a simple clay bowl at the center, no ritual significance, but for the basic need for clean water during long discussions.

"Do you think they'll hold up their end of the agreement?" Mara asked, running her fingers along the stone's surface. "The humans?"

Mirys was quiet for a moment. "They listened to Wyatt. They listened to Veyran. Maybe that's enough to start."

"And if it isn't?'"

"Then we make sure the Veilwoods, and its guardians, remember what was offered here, and what was refused.'

Mara glanced towards the river where, if you knew where to look, you could just make out the warden's arc-tech heart continuing to pulse as it slept.

"May the Veilwoods bless and guard this glade as a place between places, where different peoples can meet as equals," Mirys affirmed.

The trees rustled their approval, leaf against leaf, branch against bark, gestures more binding than human hands over hearts.

The climb to the caldera's rim had tested everyone's endurance, but Eryl noted with relief that the children had moved past simple tiredness into that strange, clear state that comes after exhaustion, sustained by the second wind that comes with having your destination in sight.

At the last switchback before the crest, she raised the patterned Sunshy scarf that would signal their approach to any scouts on patrol. She had taught some of the older children how to look out for and respond to their own people.

The first child to reach the ridge stopped, staring at the spread of the caldera below, straining to see any signs of Shy settlements.

Without looking away from the view, one of the smaller children joined Eryl on the wagon being pulled by Nib, reaching for the elder Shy's hand.

"Do we just walk down there?" the child asked.

"We just have to keep going," Eryl confirmed. She squeezed the child's hand, hoping to disguise her own trembling. "Soon, we can seek out our own kind. They've probably been looking for us already. If we're very fortunate, we get to meet our families, then finally eat and rest with them. And tell them… what happened to us."

"There's a long way left to go," the child observed with frank honesty.

"That's true," Eryl said gently. "But it'll be worth the effort."

They stepped forward together, holding up the scarf like a pennant.

Miles away in Greyhold, Veyran's fingers brushed the keyed shard Menna had entrusted to him. It warmed slightly at his touch, sending a pulse through the magical connection, then cooled back to dormancy.

Above, the world continued its complex dance of choice and consequence. On one path, kobolds and Shy together crested peaks that while imposing obstacles, also represented safety to their kind. On another, council runners sprinted back and forth with drafts and translations of an unprecedented document.

The same sun that shone on the Grey Road also cast its rays into the caldera, making no distinctions as it illuminated all equally.

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